“Nay, more, thy love!” sighed Nell, meaningly, assuming a true lover’s dejected visage.
“My love!” cried Portsmouth, curiously.
“Aye,” again sighed Nell, more deeply still; “for it is hopeless.”
“Try,” said the Duchess, almost resting her head upon Nell’s shoulder.
“I am doing my best,” said Nell, her eyes dancing through wistful lashes, as she embraced in earnest the Duchess’s graceful figure and held it close.
“Do you find it hopeless?” asked Portsmouth, returning the embrace.
“Until you trust me,” replied Nell, sadly. She shook her curls, then fondly pleaded: “Give me the secrets of your brain and heart, and then I’ll know you love me.”
The hostess smiled and withdrew from the embrace. Nell stood the picture of forlorn and hopeless love.
“Nay,” laughed Portsmouth, consolingly, “they would sink a ship.”
“One would not,” still pleaded Nell, determined at all odds to have the packet.